


Couples at The Ball

by bethany81707



Series: Stories of Garreg Mach [7]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Compilation, F/F, F/M, Flash Fic, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21908965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethany81707/pseuds/bethany81707
Summary: Characters interacting with one another at Garreg Mach's ball.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Annette Fantine Dominic/Mercedes von Martritz, Catherine/Shamir Nevrand, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund, Dorothea Arnault/My Unit | Byleth, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Lysithea von Ordelia, Ferdinand von Aegir/Leonie Pinelli, Glenn Fraldarius/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Hubert von Vestra/Edelgard's Sister, Petra Macneary/Claude von Riegan
Series: Stories of Garreg Mach [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552720
Kudos: 48





	1. Claude/Petra

Claude watched Bethany leave the dance floor, mildly disconcerted by how uncomfortable he felt she turned out. Claude had offered the dance as a courtesy, an Almyran tradition that youths would appreciate their mentors as much as their parents. He knew Bethany had a preference for women, and he expected that she would understand the platonic nature of their encounter regardless. Claude hoped that the true cause of her flight was her nervousness around crowds- an outcome that at least looked likely.

“You are admiring your Professor, yes?” Petra asked. Claude was more grateful for the distraction than startled by the lack of warning.

“That word has multiple meanings in Fodlan’s tongue, Petra. And while I admire her in one way, I definitely don’t in another,” Claude said, turning to face her. His jaw dropped, seeing Petra’s distinctly Brigid-style dress up close. Though the parts of her body the people of Fodlan considered immodest were properly covered, he got a pretty good view of skin in a variety of places, a number of which were mildly arousing.

“Of course. The admiring romantically is for me, correct?” Petra asked. Claude wanted to object to some part of that sentence on principle, but couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse without his brain running properly. He knew Brigid had some exotic dress codes, but he thought he had mentally prepared himself better than this.

“Claude? Can I be helping you?” Petra asked, genuinely concerned. Claude took a drink of water, thanking his paranoia that he carried a bottle on him at all times.

“No, you’re fine. I’ll be relaxed soon enough, I just…” Claude said, refusing to settle on an ending to that sentence. Admittedly, many of the ones that occurred to him mentioned his Almyran background, and he was used to not bringing that up.

“I’m glad, Claude. Dorothea looked at me like that earlier and Edelgard had to do yelling for her to, er… relax,” Petra said. Claude, in spite of her former reputation, could not imagine Dorothea gawking over someone other than his Professor, and allowed a chuckle to escape his thoughts.

“Does it bother you?” Claude asked.

“In Brigid, it is OK to speak your mind about things that Fodlan does not. I am beautiful, and in Brigid, there is no problem with looking. The problem is when it is not just looking. Besides, I had hoped to… surprise you, Claude,” Petra explained.

“Surprise me, that’s the word you want, Petra?” Claude asked, suddenly wondering if his hands should be in front of him where he could quickly place them on Petra’s body. Petra noticed the movement, and took his hands into her own.

“I am having a… Dorothea told to me the word… squish on you?” Petra said.

“Crush, I think. And I share that admiration for you. Would you care to dance?” Claude asked. Petra nodded gratefully, taking the lead as they stepped out onto the floor and tried to figure out the Fodlan steps together. Petra’s shoes were high-heeled and looked nice, but it was clear to them both as one stepped on the other’s toes that they were sturdy enough to match Claude’s own. Claude noticed Edelgard and Lysithea’s textbook performance a short distance away, the precise nature of it belying their inexperience.

“Claude? You are looking not pleased,” Petra said. Claude led a quick twirl, jerking his head at the pair. Petra nodded knowingly.

“Lysithea is a friend to you, correct?” Petra asked.

“More like a little sister. The Golden Deer all know there’s something she’s hiding that’s bothering her, and a lot of us would do anything for her were she to get hurt. Seeing Edelgard with her… it worries that part of me,” Claude explained. Petra’s grip loosened, and Claude tightened.

“Claude, do you know how many years I am?” Petra asked. Claude hesitated, but only because he actually had to think about what Petra wanted to say.

“No, but I know you’re older than me,” Claude said. Petra gave a weak laugh.

“Younger, Claude. I am sixteen, five months older than Lysithea,” Petra admitted. Claude didn’t want either of them to appear bothered, and navigated them nearer an edge of the floor so they could quietly slip out.

“And yet you’re more mature than some boys I won’t name,” Claude said, trying his hardest to look for Lorenz without actually looking like it.

“Fodlan’s nobles don’t mature like Brigids,” Petra snarked, and tugged the pair off the floor.

“Does our age gap bother you? Or does it bother your friends?” Claude asked.

“You are Claude von Riegan, Claude. My squish bothers my friends anyway. But if you did not like Lysithea and Edelgard, I was worried you might not be liking me and you,” Petra said. Claude shook his head.

“Edelgard gives me ngurana, and not because she’s older than Lysithea,” he explained. Petra blinked.

“Ngurana? I do not know that word,” Petra said. Claude realised, before he opened his mouth, that he had stumbled back into native Almyran.

“That’s not a Fodlan word. I’m… well, I can tell you, but I don’t want any… prying ears,” Claude whispered. Petra’s eyes lit up.

“You will tell me next we meet?” Petra asked. Claude nodded, and Petra realised Claude placed a lot of trust in her.

“On the topic of things I’m keeping quiet, have you seen a black stone? It’s really black, almost ominously so, something the people who attacked the villages were carrying around?” Claude asked.

“Ah, that gem. Apart from Monica’s, no, I have not been seeing them here. Should I have?” Petra asked.

“I nicked one from them, but I can’t find it. I’m worried someone stole it. Wait… Monica has one?” Claude asked.

“On her breasts, Dorothea said. I tried putting one of Dorothea’s brooches on mine, but it doesn’t stay put,” Petra joked.

“...Petra, your turn to talk about something. Distract me,” Claude insisted. Petra began a fascinating discussion on Brigid’s traditions on courting.


	2. Ferdinand/Leonie

Ferdinand noticed the creativity on Leonie’s dress before he fully noticed the woman wearing it. Dorothea had mentioned to him that Leonie had chosen a cheaper dress, but she had done a lot of needlework on her own time to decorate and fit it. Nevertheless, she still seemed plenty uncomfortable with what she had.

“Ferdie, do I really look more attractive in a dress like this?” Leonie asked.

“Now that you mention it, I’m not sure what the appeal of ballroom dresses is. I know there’s something…” Ferdinand remarked. Most people would be more cautious about referring to their girlfriend as unattractive, but Ferdinand had been slapped enough times that he preferred being honest to being tactful. Especially when it came to Leonie’s exposure to noble customs.

“Is it one of those noble things where no one likes it but no one wants to actually do anything about it?” Leonie asked.

“No, I do think some women pull off the ballroom gown nicely. I just can’t say why. It’s one of those ‘I don’t know that word’ things,” Ferdinand explained. Leonie shrugged.

“Can’t say I get it. I just see way too much fabric,” Leonie said. She held her hand out expectantly, and Ferdinand politely accepted her offer for a dance. With her literary progress, Ferdinand had offered to provide dancing lessons, but considering how Leonie did not possess the talent to pick up on the skill, he wondered vaguely if he got his toes trod on more often this way. At least he had brushed up on his own skill enough to give her a pleasant time in turn.

“How did I do?” Leonie asked at the end of the song. Ferdinand winced as he tried to choose a judgement.

“...Yeah, figured as much. You need to sit down?” Leonie asked. Ferdinand nodded gratefully, and the pair found a place for them to sit. Leonie offered for Ferdinand to put his feet up, but he could not overpower his noble training enough to do something so casual at such a formal setting.

“So how does this arranged marriage thing work, anyway?” Leonie asked.

“Men come to my father with their daughters and plead their case for sharing in my family’s wealth, my father considers the bride and then turns them away. My house is the largest in all of Adrestia short of Hresvelg, and my own hand had been resolutely declined by Lady Edelgard, so whoever was set to marry me would be marrying into my money and not the other way around,” Ferdinand discussed.

“What about the girls? Did any of them catch your eye? Did you at least get to  _ talk _ to any of them?” Leonie asked.

“Now now, Leonie, you almost made us nobles do the  _ logical _ thing! About one potential bride in… five was even brought to the Aegir estate, and even fewer were the same age as me. One in… seven overall? I’m convinced at least one person proposed twice, but I wasn’t looking at pattern recognition,” Ferdinand laughed. Leonie wanted to laugh, too, but that would mean admitting the nobility actively avoided common sense, and she wanted to pretend that, for all their faults, they weren’t  _ that  _ stupid.

“So, let’s pretend that I was some noble’s daughter, brought to you by my father to exchange my hand in marriage for some of your money. What happens here?” Leonie asked.

“My father would look at what territory your father has. He would consider your skillset against what the nobles believe an exemplary wife should possess, for my benefit of course. And if you got brought along, I would have a supervised tea party with you where I actually would get the chance to talk to you, not that my opinion had much weight if your territory is too poor,” Ferdinand said.

“...And you’re telling me you thought you had it  _ good _ ?” Leonie asked. Ferdinand chuckled.

“Whatever I asked for, if money could buy it, my father gave it to me. Am I not the most privileged and thus happiest boy in Adrestia? Peasants like you lived in colourless drudgery from meal to meal, giving your money up for taxes. Hey, you could be just like me if you just worked harder and made more money!” Ferdinand said. Leonie had to laugh at that one, wondering just what noble students nearby happened to hear Ferdinand von Aegir tear the very concept of privilege a sarcastic hole to make a common girl laugh like a lunatic.

“Now, a perfect wife should be submissive and quiet. Seen and not heard, obedient around the house, prettied up while everyone else does the work. This was a claim I had always questioned, to be honest. Even at a young age, I met rambunctious young girls my age who I could argue with at length, wrestle with and even lose to, and who laughed when they were happy. A girl like that… that sounds more interesting,” Ferdinand explained.

“So the girls you did see were focused on their perfect manners and making you think you’re the hottest stuff around and actively losing your interest as a result?” Leonie asked. Ferdinand tapped the side of his nose, an expression that confused Leonie.

“Oh… it means ‘on the nose’- you’re absolutely right. I was once frightened by a reclusive girl who made dolls to curse her enemies, but after three dozen perfect princesses, I wonder if perhaps she would’ve been the only interesting choice. But after meeting you, Leonie… no noble girl could compare. You do something to me that three dozen perfect princesses couldn’t dream of- you make me laugh. You make me think. And you’re not afraid of change. Even if you wouldn’t be my bride, at least find something that’ll let you-” Ferdinand said, only to find Leonie giving him a kiss to stop him.

“I’m never going to hear the end of it if I don’t marry you. We’re going to change the world, Ferdie. Together,” she said.


	3. Dimitri/Marianne

Being left alone with Sylvain was ultimately more terrifying in theory than in practice. Although the fact many people had already arrived at the ball to interrupt anything Sylvain might do, the fact remained that Sylvain was entirely uninterested in trying with Marianne. The worst thing Sylvain had a mind to do was hold her hand in a deadly strong grip- not so tight as to damage it, but it was preventing her from running back to her room and waiting out the ball. Unlike Bernie, she was needed on the floor. Or rather, her partner was.

“You know, Ingrid really ought to have done this. I’m sure you would’ve been much more comfortable with her,” Sylvain observed. Marianne did find Ingrid nice, but most of the comfort she would have drawn would have been ‘at least it’s not Sylvain’. Sylvain, for his part, was well aware this was the case.

“Ah, there’s the man! Wonder what took him so long,” Sylvain pointed out. Marianne looked up in the direction Sylvain was pointing, only to look down again once she saw Dimitri striding towards them. His hair was neatly brushed, his suit was actually properly fitted, and his face was as healthy as it could be with the eyepatch still in place. Dimitri had made an effort to impress, or at least he had been persuaded to sit still long enough for other people to put in the effort for him.

“You look stunning, Marianne,” Dimitri said, taking her now Sylvain-free hand.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing…” Marianne muttered. Hilda had offered to help her with the ensemble, but considering Hilda also had to deal with Lysithea, Leonie, and herself, she was sure that Hilda didn’t put in as much effort into Marianne’s.

“I assure you, it’s amazing. It really puts what Mercedes did with me to shame. I don’t think she’s comfortable with male fashion,” Dimitri told her.

“No, you’re really handsome. Hilda just slapped this together,” Marianne muttered.

“Are you two planning on having a date, or are you just going to do this forever?” Ashe yelled in their direction. Dimitri jumped and turned to Ashe, while Marianne turned redder than the Adrestian flag. A date… with Prince Dimitri? Sure, she felt comfortable talking to him, but that was hardly romantic material. Maybe she wouldn’t mind being married to him.

“Please excuse Ashe. Are you still comfortable enough to accompany me to the dance floor?” Dimitri asked. Marianne nodded. She knew Dimitri was naturally awkward around the proper women on campus, so she had volunteered herself to serve as his partner in the opening act.

Dimitri led Marianne by the hand, past quite the large crowd of people muttering amidst one another. There were quite a lot of people talking about other matters, but more than a handful were talking about that Marianne girl by Prince Dimitri.

“She’s so lucky, Dimitri’s a stud!”

“I wish that was me holding his hand!”

“Look at her, terrified of her own shadow.”

“Bet you she runs out on him.”

Why did she think she could do this? They were right, of course. She brought nothing but misfortune, she really should just hide in her room and let Dimitri have the night of his life with someone else, someone who deserved him. Dimitri was strong, kind, and thoughtful. He had gone out of his way to talk to her every day since they had first exchanged words, he had given her such a beautiful saddle accessory for her birthday, he took defending her on the battlefield seriously. Surely there had to be girls worth protecting that Dimitri might like?

“Marianne? You’re getting warm again. Are you sure you’re going to be OK?” Dimitri asked. Marianne shook her head, trying to escape Dimitri’s hold, but she ought to have known better. Nothing escaped Dimitri.

“Come on, the dance is starting,” Dimitri insisted. Marianne looked around, but with Edelgard, Claude, and their girlfriends- well, Bethany for Claude, he wanted a dance with her for some reason- already on the dance floor with them, it was too late for Dimitri to find some other girl. Marianne allowed herself to follow in the dance, performing the steps admirably to avoid Dimitri’s feet as an excuse to avoid thinking about the warmth emanating from his chest. If she allowed this ‘date’ to continue, would Dimitri attempt to hug her? Kiss her?

“Marianne, the floor’s filling up, come on,” Dimitri muttered. Marianne was grateful to follow Dimitri to one side, finding herself up near the professor’s end. She could feel the jealous looks on other schoolgirls’ faces, but she resolutely stared in any direction but theirs.

“Seteth, I’m worried about Marianne. Might we excuse ourselves?” Dimitri asked. Excuse ourselves? Where did Dimitri intend to take her? Would he remain with her, or come back and find some better woman?

“You may let Marianne go. Do you intend to return, Dimitri?” Seteth asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Dimitri responded. Marianne chanced a look up.

“Why not? I wouldn’t want you to lose some potentially great memories because of this,” Seteth said. Dimitri placed an arm around Marianne’s shoulders.

“I’m afraid these memories won’t be great if I’m thinking about how little Marianne is enjoying herself,” Dimitri said. Seteth chuckled, and Marianne was left withdrawing again.

“Then you might as well move on, then. Just do well to remember intimate relations are banned on campus,” Seteth told them. Intimate relations? With her?

“I’ll keep that in mind should Marianne feel comfortable with the idea of trying in the first place. I wouldn’t dream of it even if we were back in Fhirdiad,” Dimitri proclaimed. Seteth dismissed them, and Marianne was left wondering what Dimitri did want to do. What she was hoping he might want to do.

“Did… did you mean that?” Marianne asked.

“With every fiber of my being. I shall hope to be a benevolent, protective King. And I can think of no better Queen,” Dimitri said. Marianne shivered.


	4. Mercedes/Annette/Felix

If you asked most people what Mercedes was like, you would hear responses discussing her sweetness at length. If you so much as stubbed your toe, Mercedes could offer you a warm blanket, a hot refreshment and healing as necessary. But there was another side to dear Mercedes, a side that was recognisable only to Ingrid. It was her possessive side, the side that latched on to an idea and kept her single-mindedly dedicated to it. This part of her was used for good- the ambition that led her to come to Garreg Mach was nestled in there. But there was a facet of it that was rather bad.

Mercedes dearly loved Annette. Mercedes dedicated every spare moment she possessed into making sure Annette was in top form. Mercedes was going to kill Felix for dancing with Annette.

This was hardly the first time Mercedes considered killing Felix. Every time the pair had a cute moment, every time someone told her the two spent time together, that urge to do something about it bubbled to life. And every time, Mercedes’s soft, lovable exterior smothered the instinct until the closest it came to manifesting was that her hands would get slightly warmer in preparation for a Fire spell. But Mercedes knew that this could change at any moment. For now, Annette did not like Felix significantly more than she liked Mercedes. But what if that changed? What if she kissed him? Would she be able to hold herself back then?

“Mercedes,” Felix barked. Mercedes looked up at him, smiling disarmingly and wondering what Felix knew about her. Though Felix was woefully inadequate at social cues, he was the master at battlefield instincts. He was among the most likely to have guessed as to Mercedes’s inner nature.

“I’m tired. Your turn,” Felix said simply, offering to her Annette’s hand. Mercedes knew he meant that he was exhausted and needed a break from moving around, and accepted the offer without complaint. The bubbly Annette dragged Mercedes onto the dance floor and continued her boisterous movements, which Mercedes matched with a keen spirit.

“What do you think of Felix, Annie?” Mercedes asked.

“He’s a prickly meanie, but he’s rather nice to me. There’s more to him, I just know it. I like him, though. He’s sincere in what he believes, and he’s loyal once he believes in what he’s loyal to. What about you, Mercie? I heard you had a crush on Felix too,” Annette told her.

“Nothing of the sort. My interest in Felix is because the two of you have a bond, and I only wish that you receive the best from your friends,” Mercedes said.

“You trust Felix, don’t you, Mercie?” Annette asked. Mercedes was compelled to incorporate a tight hug into a twirl coming up in their dance.

“I know Felix won’t hurt you. I do agree that Felix is nice when he wants to be,” Mercedes said.

“And is that where you want to leave that thought, Mercie? I don’t like that you don’t like him,” Annette said. Mercedes’s mind, as most minds tended to do, jumped to the idea that Annette was aware of her dark side.

“Why not, Annie? It’s your choice,” Mercedes reminded her.

“We’re besties forever, Mercie. If I have to choose between a guy and my Mercie, I’ll take the Mercie every time.” Annette said. This wasn’t as comforting to Mercedes as Annette perhaps thought it might have been, though it was quite innocently such on Annette’s part. Since Mercedes was quite single-mindedly dedicated to her lovely Annette, the fact Annette would sacrifice her own social life because of Mercedes made Mercedes feel like she had too much power. The seven years Mercedes had on Annette only made any such imbalances concern Mercedes more.

“You’d do that?” Mercedes asked.

“Mercie, you’ve been by my side so long now, I don’t want to do anything to compromise our friendship,” Annette told her.

“That’s very sweet, Annie, but why would you and Felix getting together hurt you and me?” Mercedes asked. Unfortunately for Annette, Mercedes already knew at least two reasons, but whether Annette had caught on to them was another matter.

“Well, that’s the thing about putting our friendship in someone else’s hands. I don’t know how Felix is going to react. I’d like it if you two got along, but…” Annette muttered.

“Not to worry, I’m sure me and Felix can work something out. If you’re going to be willing to give something up for me, it’s got to work both ways, doesn’t it?” Mercedes insisted.

“Well, sure, if that’s how you feel, but… don’t force it, OK? If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work,” Annette said. Mercedes nodded, and looked up to go find Felix. Turns out he had already departed, or at least was somewhere not easily discernible from the dance floor.

“Tch. What a man, to leave his cute girl all on her lonesome. Or, well, with someone else who’s just as likely to steal her away as keep her safe,” Annette grumbled. Mercedes preferred to keep her grumblings silent, as her malicious intent was quite keenly focused on Annette’s happiness, rather than attempting to secure an outcome in which the pair of them were wedded. Though Felix meant nothing but the best for Annette, the definitions of the word were mismatched between the three of them, and no doubt the incident that would result in Mercedes finally snapping and killing the man would have at least one of them firmly believing the situation was going well.

“Say, Mercedes… what is the matter between you two? You’ve been communicating exclusively non-verbally, I haven’t caught a… word?” Annette said.

“I… I don’t like it when he makes you uncomfortable. I’d prefer to leave it there,” Mercedes said. Though the pair shared all manner of secrets with one another, Mercedes hoped that her dark side would remain unspoken. Perhaps if she ignored it long enough, it would go away. Perhaps, but probably not.


	5. Edelgard/Lysithea

Lysithea gave a brief smile as Dorothea and Edelgard finally arrived, moving amidst the crowd that had already begun. The dance with the three House Leaders to begin the event was due to start soon, and Edelgard no doubt had a boy in mind to be her partner- no, Lysithea remembered what she said earlier. Edelgard, like Professor Bethany, preferred girls.

“So what’s gotten you so happy?” Hilda asked, her grin far too wide. Lysithea wanted to avoid getting Hilda on the topic, only to find Edelgard having made their way to the pair.

“May I have this dance?” Edelgard asked. Hilda squealed, but tried to keep it quiet enough. She still got a glare from both girls, but they were content to leave the matter.

“You may,” Lysithea said, taking her hand and gliding alongside Edelgard onto the dance floor. Dimitri and Claude approached, Marianne and Beth following behind them. The tradition, as each understood it, was them to offer a bow to start the song. Edelgard preferred a curtsey, to keep her eyes up, and she was altogether not surprised Claude was of the same mind. The music began, and Edelgard turned to Lysithea.

Lysithea’s nerves were at the forefront of her thoughts. Step, step, step, turn, focus on what her feet were doing. She wasn’t of the mind to look away from Edelgard’s face, despite her beautiful features being the cause of most of her nerves. She told herself that looking away would only make the situation worse. And yet those eyes, purple with the pain of her story… those pure white locks, well cared for enough to run her hand through… those full cheeks…

“Is something wrong, Lysithea?” Edelgard asked. Lysithea tensed up, but Edelgard was quick to get her feet back in rhythm.

“Wrong? Absolutely not…” Lysithea insisted. Edelgard’s gaze bore into hers, and she wondered whether she wanted to elaborate. What she might say if she did.

“Lysithea… your crush is on me, I take it?” Edelgard asked. Lysithea nodded, feeling hot enough that she started to look away just to take a breather. Edelgard allowed her to cool down before pulling her face back up to meet hers.

“That’s good… because so is mine,” Edelgard said. Lysithea let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m glad to have met you, Edie. You’re strong, and kind, and I enjoy our chances to talk with one another,” Lysithea said.

“It’s nice to hear that,” Edelgard said. She leant in and gave Lysithea a kiss on the cheek. Lysithea’s thoughts on the matter lost their way to her throat, and by the time the butterflies wore off, she had lost the train of thought.

“Say, Lysithea… some of the Deer have been staring…” Edelgard said. Lysithea blinked, wondering just how much time had passed, and looked around to notice Claude, Hilda and Raphael doing their best to not look like they were staring at her.

“Eh, let them stare. It’s not their business who I date. I’m their student peer, not their little sister to baby,” Lysithea said. Edelgard leant in closer.

“You want to go for a walk anyway?” Edelgard asked. Lysithea gave the matter about two seconds of thought before cheekily agreeing. A night to remember with Edelgard, and material to finally turn the tables on Claude and Hilda and start teasing them for a change. Edelgard’s hand rested in hers, clenched tightly.

“Don’t worry, Edie, I’ll stick around,” Lysithea told her.

“And I’ll always protect you, Lysithea,” Edelgard responded. Lysithea nuzzled her head into Edelgard’s side, but Edelgard continued the walk with her in pace.

“After we graduate… we’ll be moving back to our homes. Adrestia for you and Ordelia for me…” Lysithea said. Edelgard rolled her eyes.

“Don’t remind me. We’ll be enemies,” Edelgard sighed. Lysithea chuckled.

“Not if we don’t want to be. As Empress of Adrestia, you can put a stop to any conflict our countries might engage in, can you not?” Lysithea asked. Edelgard blushed a deep shade of red.

“Of… of course, Lysithea. But if things were to come to blows…” Edelgard started.

“Oh, don’t spoil the moment. I couldn’t side against you, Edie,” Lysithea said. Edelgard nodded nervously, clearly wanting to continue the topic, but respecting Lysithea’s wish.

“I love you, Edelgard. We have so much in common that it would be incredibly unlikely for you to do something that horrifies me to the point of wishing you dead,” Lysithea said.

“Yeah… that… that makes sense…” Edelgard said, clearly not believing in her words. Lysithea’s eyes narrowed.

“I think I need to be a little more blunt,” she said, leaning in.

Lysithea returned to the ballroom with Edelgard in her arms and not particularly appearing to have a full grasp of her senses. The ball had been concluded in their absence and many participants had already gone and retired to their rooms. Lysithea was not entirely surprised to find Hilda being among the ones who remained, eyes glinting knowingly as she reluctantly approached her.

“So what did you two do together?” Hilda asked.

“You sleep next door to her, can you get her to her room? No way am I getting up those stairs with her like this,” Lysithea asked, although the act of actually prying the girl off her was harder than she had expected.

“You know, I could probably take you both up to her room, or you could take her to yours?” Hilda suggested with a cheeky wink.

“Or I could take her along,” Hubert told her. Lysithea nodded gratefully, and Hubert pried Edelgard off her.

“What is your name?” Hubert asked.

“Ly… Ly…” Edelgard responded. Hubert scooped up Edelgard, giving Lysithea a dark glare before he made his departure.

“Wow, what’s his problem?” Hilda asked, before pressing Lysithea for details about the encounter. Lysithea couldn’t walk away faster than Hilda could catch up, but by the time the pair arrived at Lysithea’s room and the door locked in Hilda’s face, Hilda got the message.


	6. Bethany/Dorothea

Bethany may have been embroiled in a conversation with Sothis, but she would never have missed the clatter of heels approaching her. Sothis disappeared in a flash, leaving her to face Dorothea.

“Strange of you to have run out so soon. What ball is complete without the plucky little White Heron?” Bethany asked.

“A ball without the White Heron’s lovely dance partner. You took a dance with Claude and left,” Dorothea replied.

“The dance was important to Claude. I got a few asks from some of the other students and realised I was going to have to leave if I didn’t want to be swarmed all night,” Bethany told her.

“Must be nice to be so popular…” Dorothea muttered. Bethany gave her a nervous smile.

“If I’m popular, what does that make you? You’re beautiful, you’ve got as many students coming to you for advice and companionship… I’m the teacher, they just want me to help them pass. Why should they come to you?” Bethany asked.

“You’re not just a teacher to us, Beth. Well… OK, I don’t actually know what the others think of you. But to me, you’re my friend, and I feel like I wouldn’t be too far off base assuming everyone else thinks of you… sorta the same. You’re their teacher, but you’re also their friend,” Dorothea said. Bethany offered a rather weak laugh.

“I think I remember a bit of that… there was this book I got that recommended ‘be friendly, but don’t be their friend’. Turns out I did mess up part of the job description, huh…” Bethany chuckled. Dorothea stepped forward, not quite sure whether she should be so casual after that remark, but Bethany beckoned her over anyway. Dorothea put a hand on her shoulder blades, while Bethany’s arm snaked around and pulled her in for a hug.

“Beth!” Dorothea gasped. Bethany turned, eyes widened with worry, and met Dorothea’s own startled expression. She released her grip, but Dorothea’s other hand stopped Beth’s from sneaking away. Bethany could quite clearly hear the sound of Dorothea’s heavy breathing.

“Flashback?” Bethany asked.

“Don’t… don’t worry about it, Beth,” Dorothea sighed.

“Apparently, it’s my job to worry. And if I’m going to do this ‘caring about you forever’ business, no time like now to start,” Bethany said. Dorothea bowed her head.

“I’ve probably already told you about this, but as a famous and beautiful opera star, I was often the target of perverted nobles in some… well, let’s pretend the worst they tried was kidnapping,” Dorothea said. Bethany tightened her grip, and Dorothea found her head swaying into Bethany’s side.

“It rings a bell. It didn’t occur to me you might have some problems with intimacy, though. You used to date around a lot, remember?” Bethany asked. Dorothea found herself surprised this part of her life was being addressed as such a distant memory, though her argument failed to reach her lips.

“There’s a reason none of them got second dates. Being in their presence was mortifying, and whatever ones were lucky enough to get an inn room instantly offered the chance for me to regret my choice. I’m so happy I started crushing on you. I didn’t force myself to go on these dates, and the happiness I’ve felt being in your presence was enough to show me what true love really is. To that end… I’m sure I’ll come to regret this, but I feel like I’d rather keep looking for someone who loves me in the slums than marry a man who’ll treat me like I’m still in them,” Dorothea said.

“Fair enough, Dorothea. But you’re forgetting one thing: you have found someone who loves you, who’s offered to care for you into your grey years. Why look for another?” Bethany asked.

“Refresh my memory: who? I never expected you to know more about my love life than I did,” Dorothea giggled.

“Me. I love you,” Bethany told her. She didn’t seem to be giggling, but being Bethany, that wasn’t proof of anything. She didn’t laugh when she joked about caring for her, after all…

“I’m… that’s… you’re a teacher…” Dorothea babbled.

“Didn’t you tell me something about Manuela saying there’s no rule against student-teacher romance in Garreg Mach? I know other schools are a little more picky,” Bethany asked.

“Well, yeah… it’s just…” Dorothea started.

“This is the Goddess Tower. It is said that, if a man and a woman were to share a wish here, their wish would come true. Well, we are woman and woman, but reading between the lines, I reckon that the legend is aimed at romantic types like us anyway. What would you wish for, if it would work for us?” Bethany asked.

“I wish that it didn’t have to be this way. All this stammering and dancing around the truth. I, Dorothea Arnault, love you, Professor… Bethany Eisner. I want to be able to live in a world where we can be together. No one calling me weird for crushing on ‘Teach’. No church casting me odd looks when I swoon over you. No Dorothea rethinking the obvious for the hundred and eighth time. It would be me, a former opera diva and abuse survivor, and you, a lost mercenary finding her emotions, together… and living,” Dorothea answered. Bethany smiled, and pulled Dorothea around to press themselves together in a proper hug.

“I believe that can be arranged,” Bethany said, in a tone that made Dorothea confident Bethany would legitimately try to pull this off.

“It’s just a fanciful wish on a legend, isn’t it?” Dorothea asked.

“Dorothea, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from teaching the lot of you, it’s to question everything. Something that could grant wishes has to have either tight restrictions or devastating consequences- could you imagine what would happen if someone came up here wishing to see the church destroyed and Fodlan reorganised? If wishes are going to come true, they need elbow grease, not fairy tales,” Bethany told her.


	7. Catherine/Shamir

Shamir had counted a surprisingly large number of students making their way from the ballroom early, expressions ranging from meeting with their lover somewhere else to plain disinterest. It had been a while since Shamir was the average age of the students, and she was fairly sure that she would’ve stayed out a ball even if she were the quiet self she was today.

“Catherine, is it the ball itself that’s the problem?” Shamir asked. Catherine distracted herself from an almost Ingrid-like banquet to express confusion as to what the problem even was.

“The students. They’re leaving early,” Shamir said.

“Not our problem, more food for me. I’m surprised you even care, Shamir,” Catherine chuckled.

“Then you have forgotten who I am. I work in reconnaissance, and it is my job to know where people are coming and going. Just because this is supposed to be a day of levity doesn’t mean I’m going to slack off, especially since we haven’t narrowed down what’s going on in the chapel,” Shamir pointed out.

“Oh, you’re the type to stick to the job. I was honestly expecting you to have wanted a break from that. It must be so stressful,” Catherine said.

“Stress invites error. Complacency invites disaster. Besides, this ball must’ve cost money to throw. Seems frivolous if no one’s staying,” Shamir observed.

“Hm, better point. But it’s not like the food’s going to waste. Anything that makes it past me is going with Cyril to the orphans,” Catherine laughed. Shamir checked the plates.

“If anything makes it past you. Your palate… no, it’s larger than Ingrid and Raphael’s. Starvation and grief explain them, but what, might I ask, explains yours?” Shamir asked. Catherine’s expression darkened- briefly, since she ought to know Shamir could see right through her- but her answer was as joking as ever.

“I fight as hard as I can to protect Lady Rhea, using a powerful weapon that increases my energy output,” Catherine explained.

“Lysithea, Ingrid, Sylvain and Felix all wield Relics and exhibit strong combat presences and don’t eat as much,” Shamir pointed out.

“Ingrid’s as much a glutton as I am, Lysithea stocks up on sugary cakes, and the other two… OK, you got me,” Catherine said, going back to scarfing down food in a vain attempt to stop the conversation. Shamir sighed, and dragged her out of sight.

“Now why are you-?” Shamir started, and Catherine immediately responded by exposing her chest. Shamir looked away instinctively, only for Catherine to cough and urge her to at least peek. Beyond the breasts Shamir had always wanted to see was a white stone embedded in her chest, and Shamir chose to focus on trying to make sense of the patterns across it until Catherine put her chest away.

“Lady Rhea gave this stone to me, as a symbol of my pride as her knight and my absolute devotion to her cause. Receiving this stone was the catalyst for my increased appetite, but whatever explanation that might have is beyond someone as simple as me. I feel stronger with it in place, that’s about when I stopped caring,” Catherine explained.

“You have a strange object embedded in your chest that you know is messing with your biology and ‘you don’t care’? Fodlan is crazy,” Shamir sighed. Catherine gave her a shoulder bash.

“And yet you’re still here, hanging out with all the crazies. Who’s more foolish- the fool, or the fool who follows?” Catherine asked.

“You lot range from ‘quirky cute’ to ‘actually traumatised’, but never quite ‘lacks common sense’,” Shamir said.

“Hey, just because I put a strange rock on my chest doesn’t mean I lack common sense! I have faith in Lady Rhea, and I trust her to not attempt to do anything untoward with me! Why have you got to suspect the worst in your friends?” Catherine asked.

“I don’t suspect the worst in my friends. I just don’t rule it out,” Shamir said.

“You want to come back to my room after this? Now you know about my secret, you can check out my chest any time you want,” Catherine asked with a wink. Shamir was tempted by that offer.

“There’s no danger of that stone getting knocked out of your chest, is there?” Shamir asked. Catherine offered a practical demonstration along with her denial.

“Shoot. I take it I shouldn’t go around asking about it?” Shamir asked. Catherine scoffed.

“Hell no. I think Rhea’s felt fit to give that Cyril boy a stone, but really, I don’t think too many people will understand this honour,” Catherine explained.

“I don’t,” Shamir pointed out.

“Quod era demonstratum,” Catherine said.

“Quod erat demonstrandum, and did you learn that one from Bethany?” Shamir asked.

“So what if I did? Is this going to be a problem, Shamir?” Catherine asked.

“I’m worried about you, Catherine. Much more so than you seem to be worried about yourself. If it comes down to it, I will take up arms against you if you don’t care for your well-being as much as I do,” Shamir snapped.

“Bold words, Shamir. Siding against me is siding against the church, and not even you would be so foolish,” Catherine laughed. Shamir raised an eyebrow.

“Rhea has saved my life. I’ve returned the favour. I’m not going to stay here if the times change. If a better offer comes, I’m going to take it. And if I’m considering offers, I’m going to take Rhea’s flaws into account as well as her strengths. Surprise, Catherine, she has both,” Shamir said.

“Pfft. Like I don’t know that much. I choose to make Rhea’s mistakes my own mistakes,” Catherine said. Shamir shrugged, and turned.

“I have no use for a partner who outright refuses to think on her feet,” Shamir said, walking somewhat slower than usual. She expected Catherine to call out, to try and keep up the argument going and allow their friendship to remain firm. But she remained silent. Perhaps the two were indeed incompatible.


	8. Ingrid/Glenn

Despite her relative isolation, Marianne provided her with enough information alongside her meals that Ingrid had kept track of the date. Today was to be the ball, and she could finally get out of hiding and get back to her studies. Lecture notes had accompanied her to her hidey holes and she had plenty of practice with her spearwork- and, of course, managing to fly with Professor Bethany out of sight of Garreg Mach. She shouldn’t be too horribly far behind, and Professor Hanneman didn’t sound too angry. Maybe he was.

Although Ingrid would be returning to the hustle of the monastery soon, and she would be grateful for the steady stream of food for the next three months, she couldn’t deny that isolation was actually somewhat enjoyable. She had heard stories of monks going to isolated places and ‘meditating’ for inner enlightenment. She hadn’t the foggiest how that was done, but she certainly spent some of her free time sitting with her legs crossed, her hands neatly folded, and her eyes closed. Exactly what meditation was eluded her, but there was a certain sensation of peace and thoughtfulness she had discovered in that pose.

Unfortunately, her final night was hardly going to be spent reflecting on what was truly important to her, the meaning of life, or whatever other important life lessons meditation was intended to impart. Balls meant dates, dates meant marriage proposals. Marianne had informed her Dimitri would be her partner, and the what ifs of who her own date might have been clouded her mind. True isolation would hide this sort of thing and allow focus on the lessons. Perhaps she ought to give a year or two to the craft after she graduated. How long did monks do this sort of thing?

Anyway, she had attended only one ball in her life. Once she had been cleared for dancing with someone and not crippling them for the next week of drills, she had immediately been thrust onto the floor. Glenn was at her side, happily. Glenn had always been there for her. As kids, making sure they didn’t get into catastrophic mischief, but encouraging smaller scale pranks. As youths, helping drill the basics of combat into their muscles. And as teens, where Glenn had stepped forward to take Ingrid’s hand and she had taken it.

Glenn was every bit as good a lover as he was a brother. He respected her boundaries and allowed her to govern when she was not comfortable doing something, but when that was out of his control, he would guide her through it with a soft voice and a gentle touch. Despite how young she had been at the time, Glenn had offered her a ‘proper’ kiss. It was only the one, as he died before she was old enough for him to feel comfortable giving her as many as some couples were want to do, but Ingrid treasured the moment and was fond of the idea of it never happening again.

Not that her father tried very hard to respect that wish. It was always marriage proposals from some man or other. Dorothea mentioned finding some of her potential husbands missed the mark in the inn room. Ingrid was almost grateful none of her dates made it past the first meeting. She probably had a huge pile of offers waiting for her during the ball season, but no doubt Professor Bethany, Dorothea or Mercedes had made it their business to intercept them all. They all knew her standards well enough to refuse the dumbest requests for her.

Really, though, how hard could it have been for her father to at least find someone who could pass for Glenn? Glenn was a proud knight, loyal to his cause, if a little bit ready to jump at anything and question why it had to be done. If he had to say any of the boys she met here at Garreg Mach came close to the ideal Glenn embodied, she would probably say Ferdinand. Ferdinand had too much of that ‘questioning his orders’ and butted heads with Edelgard way too often to be the proud hero Glenn was, though. She was happy not pursuing that lead.

Ashe was another boy who interested her. He was a commoner whose cutthroat life was put to a stop when Lonato of Gaspard took him in and educated him properly. Ashe was always approaching people others had counted out and asking them for their stories, ready to treat them with kindness and the encouragement to ‘do better’. Glenn was polite, but Ashe was more so. Ingrid had been incredibly disappointed when Lonato’s defeat ultimately led to his territory and inheritance being worth incredibly little. Not like Ashe would’ve claimed a ton of it, but no way would she get away with accepting him as a substitute. She did slip a description of him in a letter to her father, but his next proposal clearly took the wrong lessons from it- particularly the ‘father was a disgrace’ bit.

If the meditation had worked, Ingrid would later wonder if perhaps this is part of the lesson it had to teach. Ingrid’s next thoughts were again of Glenn, but thinking about how she thought of the relationship they shared. Ingrid loved Glenn, and Glenn loved Ingrid. That much did not need extra contemplation. But Ingrid had learned about other types of love amidst her time in Garreg Mach. Even someone as professional as Professor Bethany- yes, she was professional most of the time- had something as weird as a love for women. Perhaps the relationship she and Glenn possessed was not wholly a romantic one? If she met Glenn today, would their bond be the same? Perhaps she would join seemingly half of her peer group and find herself not wanting a husband at all. But the idea of a wife appealed to her even less. Perhaps she fancied neither gender. Just what did it mean to fancy someone?


	9. Hubert/Magdalene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending of this chapter includes direct allusions to torture, as a warning to those who may be sensitive to it.

Hubert watched his liege dance with the young Lysithea von Ordelia. The two had formed an attachment two months prior, and Hubert had plenty of free time in all of his duties, imposed by Edelgard and himself alike, to run enough research on the girl to know her well. The two girls were incredibly alike and got on well. Hubert’s biggest complaint against the pairing was that the girls were too similar, and would butt heads asserting one girl had a better read on the situation than the other. Barely significant enough to pose the question to Edelgard, let alone object. Though he supposed he might.

“Hubie? Could you help me with this dress?” Magdalene’s voice asked. Hubert had been wondering when she was going to start speaking to him. In his mind’s eye, he could see Magdalene as he knew her, struggling to tie the sash around her waist. Hubert had professionally done the knot, so well that he had to undo the knot that night, and Magdalene had seemed so disappointed. Hubert had no idea why, he had been so professional and courteous and a well done knot was a good knot.

“Hubie? Care for a cup of coffee?” Magdalene asked. Hubert didn’t see the appeal on trying the foreign beverage over the local variety of tea, but with the experimentation- Hubert let out a slightly deeper breath at the word even outside of context- offered to him by both House Vestra and House Hresvelg, he found himself gravitating more towards coffee than tea as he grew older. Perhaps because Magdalene was with him when he first tried tasting it.

“Hubie! Watch me!” Magdalene called. It was his job to watch her, of course, but Magdalene delighted in jumping around and performing all sorts of acrobatic feats. All he had told her about them was that she should reconsider wearing skirts while performing them, but even he couldn’t conceal the smile on his face watching Magdalene beaming brightly with vitality.

“Checkmate, Hubie,” Magdalene proudly proclaimed. Chess was not Hubert’s favourite game- that would have been Go- but he had played the game with Magdalene so frequently that he wondered whether he was better at chess than Go. And yet Magdalene managed to beat him. Their win-loss record was in Hubert’s favour, but Magdalene snatching the win wasn’t a remarkable occurrence. Hubert estimated Magdalene won one game to two of Hubert’s, though as usual when Magdalene was the subject of his thoughts, he wondered if perhaps he was looking back at her with rose tinted lenses. Perhaps Magdalene won one game to Hubert’s three, or four, or even five. Magdalene’s victorious giggles meant more to him than her frustrated grunts, though even he didn’t have a number on Magdalene’s winning games.

“Hubie, can you check this?” Magdalene asked. Magdalene’s earliest encounters with injury were found when she fought with her sisters over inconsequential feuds with just her smaller hands. His mastery of healing magic was, and still is, limited to healing small abrasions, but however Adelheid, Magdalene and Edelgard managed to hurt one another, they had never done enough damage that it was beyond his power to heal. Part of the reason he never felt the need to do more study in the field- the centralisation of the goddess in the theory bothered him too much to take up an interest, but his father had pressured him to at least read the early content so he could look after Hresvelg’s abrasions.

“Hubie? Do I look pretty enough?” Magdalene asked. Neither enjoyed the idea of attending a large ceremony for no other reason than she was a pretty girl and they had to show that off. Hubert’s least favourite part of the event was the myriad ways a potential malicious actor could approach Magdalene. Magdalene hated having to sit around and not look bored while being totally bored. She always did, however, enjoy dressing up, being sure to show Hubert the extent of her work before approaching her father as he set up the proceedings. ‘Pretty’ was a word he preferred not to use to describe his former liege, but it was certainly the correct one. More than once, Hubert had fantasised about asking her father if he could marry Magdalene regardless of where he was needed. He never acted on the impulse, however. His duty to House Hresvelg was more important than how he felt about one of its many heirs.

“Hubie? Where are… HELP!” Magdalene’s voice screamed in his ears. Hubert was expecting this part and it still caused him enough pain that a slight twinge appeared on his expression. Magdalene’s pained screams had been with him for weeks, and the searing pain inflicted on her had impressed itself upon him so severely that Vestra’s family maids had to hand feed him. The official story about that time was that he was grounded for attempting to run to Fhirdiad and warn Edelgard about the Insurrection of the Seven, but his father was at least aware of the magical pendant that was the true cause of his suffering. Neither man acknowledged the problem after the episode was over, preferring to leave the matter unspoken so long as there would be no recurrence.

“Hubie…” Magdalene’s weakened voice said, almost imperceptibly so. Indeed, the maid who happened to be in the room reported not hearing the word at all. But on his last visit to Enbarr to check on Magdalene, the word had escaped her lips. After several long years, Magdalene finally recognised him again, the boy that had formed her closest bond outside of her family- and even then, Hubert thought himself more important to Magdalene than some of her siblings. Hubert dismissed the maid, and cried for the first time since he lost her. He had no time for emotions these days, but when he looked upon the withered skeleton that was his former liege, such thoughts were discarded. Magdalene deserved every tear he had to shed for her.


End file.
